There's something to be said about working from home but having had the luxury for the last two years, I question how long someone can keep this up when they're alone. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but things happen, life happens.

A couple years ago I took a job copywriting for different companies. At the time I needed something that would keep me at home but still allow me to continue to contribute. It's far from a dream job but it's steady money, most of the time.

I sit at my computer in the den. My coffee is steaming beside me and I'm typing furiously but I don't think the words are making any sense and before I know it my words start to clip and I can sense the anger in the paragraphs I type. Is this the truth behind writing?

My hands start cramping and I sit back in my chair. To the right is a picture of Jake and I at our wedding and I can see the complete joy on our faces. He's staring at me and I'm staring at him and we're smiling like we're harboring a secret. We had our future ahead of us. I felt more comfortable with Jake than my own parents and sharing our lives together was obviously the next step. I adored him, couldn't get enough of him.

And until recently, that was how it always was. I can pinpoint the downfall to about a year and a half ago. We've been married for four years and for the first two, everything was peachy; then the honeymoon came to an abrupt halt.

I sometimes blame myself but there are two people in this marriage and I can't be expected to carry everything, all the time.

I want to keep writing but that picture is taunting me. I push the frame face down on the desk, attempt another paragraph, and it's still too much. I decide I've had enough and leave the room. I throw on a light jacket and rush out the front door, down to my car. I can hear the waves from La Push from my front porch and I consider going for a walk. I decide against it, hop in my car, and take off toward town. I had promised myself long ago that I wouldn't get trapped in this nowhere town like everyone else; I'd go to college, make something of myself, maybe move to New York and turn myself into a city girl. None of those things happened.

Well, I went to school, but I hardly consider a community college in Port Angeles as real university experience.

I pull out my phone and dial the first number that comes to mind. Thankfully, she answers.

"Hola, mamas."

I smile. "Hey, Al, what are you up to?"

Alice sighs. "Nothing, such a drab day. I'm at the studio."

"Can I-"

"Don't be stupid, I"ll be here," she says.

I laugh. "Thanks, Al."

I hang up the phone and toss it onto the passenger seat.

It takes an hour to hit downtown Port Angeles. I pull into a front parking spot and take the steps upstairs. Alice is the epitome of creativity. She lives for an outlet. The room hasn't changed much. I try not to come here often, it makes me wish for old times, when this was our studio and not just Alice's. Alice and I had met at the local college in an art class; she sat next to me, made a scandalous comment about the nude model for the day, and instantly she stayed in my corner.

Alice and I decided to open a studio for just the two of us and Jake was supportive...until about a year and a half ago. Then the side comments started; why are we spending money on this? What's the point? It's stupid, it's not like it can help us in the long run. Is this just an excuse to hang out with somebody? You can go out for dinner once a month like a normal wife. I broke the news to Alice soon after it started and I feel that I took the news harder than she did. She just seemed angry with Jake.

I push the door open and for the first time it doesn't stick. Alice is sitting at the bar, a half-empty beer in her hand, and a smirk on her face.

"When did you fix this?"

"I didn't," she says. She chugs the rest of the bottle. "Edward did."

"Oh, I didn't know he was here," I say.

"He moved back. Took a position in E.R. with his dad."

I nod. Carlisle Cullen has been a staple in Forks for as long as I can remember. His son, Edward, is a few years older than me, but Carlisle lives somewhere between Port Angeles and Forks and he decided to send his son to Port Angeles; not that I can blame him, Forks High School left something to be desired. I've only met Edward in passing and all that I can remember is that he was the most beautiful person I'd ever laid eyes on, next to his wife, Tanya, of course.

"How's it been having them back around?"

Alice has always kept her feelings on her combined family pretty quiet. Her mother, Esme, was a victim of serious domestic violence from Alice's father. Alice told me once, while extremely drunk off of whiskey sours, that there were nights she could hear her mother screaming as her father pounded on her and Alice sometimes worried that when she woke up her mother would be dead. Instead, she'd leave the bedroom bruised and battered but still with a smile for her little girl. It took Esme years to leave him and when she did she ran right into Carlisle's arms. Alice has had trouble accepting many things in her life, even when her mother found happiness with a man who couldn't have been more perfect for her, she had her doubts. Trust comes at a cost with Alice.

"It's harder to find a quiet space in the house," she says. She waves her arms around the room, "but that's why I have this place, huh?"

I smile. "My house is as quiet as this studio twelve hours a day."

Alice eyes me. "Why? How's Jake gone that long?"

I shrug. "He's just working more hours lately."

Alice rolls her eyes. "You lie like a rug, Bella. What's going on with you two?"

"Nothing," I say quickly. "Same old."

Alice shakes her head. "Something's different, something's wrong. I worry about you, ya know."

"I'm fine."

Alice's green eyes are serious and I can tell she doesn't believe me.

"I want to show you something," I say.

I open the garbage bag I have had hidden in the trunk for days. I pull out the canvas and present it to Alice. She stands from the stool and her eyes widen. She comes closer and fingers the dried paint. "It's...beautiful," she says.

I smile.

"It's also incredibly dark."

I look down at the black and blues that I've used to create my self-portrait and nod.